What's Wrong With Sam?
by 9Tiptoes
Summary: Dean finally gives in to the nagging feeling that there's something not right with his brother. S6 Includes up through 6.4 after that, it is AU
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first fic. Go easy on my ego, but be truthful. I'll love you no matter what. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except in my dreams.**

"What's wrong with my brother, Cas?"

"Hey!" Sam's indignant response sounded from the bathroom. He stepped back into the room, dried his hands on a towel and was sure to drop the damp cloth on Dean's pillow for good measure. _Jerk_. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me." He snatched up the laptop and climbed onto his bed, sliding up till his back met the headboard and gave Dean a parting glare before diving back into research.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine, whatever," Dean waved him off, his eyes fixated on the angel standing in the kitchenette. "Cas?"

"Hmm?" Castiel looked up from where he was poking at a plate of three day old food. Pointing down at the plate, "I'm confused. Are you trying to create life here?" This got a tittering laugh from behind the laptop monitor.

"Focus, dammit." Dean growled, rubbing on his forehead in frustration as he paced like a caged animal in the small hotel room.

"My apologies." The angel did his best to look apologetic. His best wouldn't win him any awards.

"My brother, Cas. I need to know what's wrong..."

" I'm _right_ here."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean stopped his pacing to turn and look at his younger brother. The tension radiating off him in waves did little to hide the desperation in his voice. "I _need_ to know. This has been bothering me…for weeks and I've let it go cuz I'm just so damned glad to have you back. But I can't keep ignoring it."

Sam lips tightened into a frown. This was the same argument that Dean had been trying to raise with him for a week. Sam had yet to take the bait and he didn't mean to start now. He shook his head at his brother and raised an upturned hand asking for Dean to continue.

"You're different. You know it and yet you don't seem real concerned about finding out why. Or even how you're back. _My Sam_would have been all over this in a month long Geekfest of research. This would be tearing _My Sam_ up inside. He'd be worried sick about the newest version of freak he'd become."

"He?" Sam's forehead crinkled in such a classic Sammy way that for a split second Dean nearly took it all back. Nearly. Sam closed the lid to the laptop, setting it down beside him and slid to the edge of the bed. His long legs draped over the side, his hands loosely gripping the mattress. He cleared his face of tension and let it slide into his voice, effectively lowering his too cool voice by two octaves.

"So what? You think I'm some kind of doppelganger? Come on, Dean. We've been through this already. Really, what other way is there for me to prove to you who I am?"

"No, you're right. I know you're my brother. No one else in the _world_ could be this much of a pain in my ass. But you are _not_ _My Sam_. You're not Sammy. Hell, you're not even fighting me on this. If you think there's nothing wrong, then by all means, friggin' stand up for yourself. Get mad at me. _Something_." Dean scanned Sam's face for any sign of emotion and found none.

"No. You won't. You'll just sit there all non-committal and avoid the subject altogether. God! I'd like nothing better than to punch you right now. Maybe then I'd get some kind of reaction out of you. I get more emotion out of our friendly neighborhood angel dick." Dean raised a hand thumbing toward Castiel who gave a grunt of recognition without looking up from where he was still poking quietly at the science experiment gone bad.

"What do you want me to do, Dean? You want me to curl up in the corner and have a good cry over my time in Hell? It's not going to happen. Look, I'm sorry if you're having a hard time dealing with this. It wasn't my intention to…" Dean raised a hand for silence and took a moment to shake the look of shock out of his eyes.

"Your intention? Your only intention was to avoid me completely so you could go on hiding whatever's going on here. And you've succeeded, pal. For a whole freakin' year. And when you finally do announce your _royal_ presence," Sam can't help but smirk at Dean's hands waving dramatically in the air. "I find that you've gone out and replaced me with the friggin' Robo-family. What the Hell, Sam?"

"Is that what this is about? Samuel and the others? Are you, are you jealous?" Sam's question was sincere which just pressed Dean's buttons even further.

"No!" Dean spun away from Sam, his hands reaching up into his hair to tug at the roots. "God, Sam! It's about you. I want the truth. I want my brother back and I really want to be able to trust your judgment and know that when it counts you've got my back."

"Dean, I do." He sighed sadly, lowering his head to his chest.

"No. Not really. Not in a while. You have a totally different agenda now. And I don't even know what it is! Whatever happened to the family business, Sam?"

"I'm there." Sam stood, finally showing just a hint of emotion. "Every single day. With you. Hunting things, killing things. Just like we've always done. I don't understand what the problem is."

"You're missing the point."

"Obviously," Sam groaned, sinking again into the mattress.

"It used to be that we did this to help people. Hell, I still do. But not you. Not anymore. Like I said, different agenda. You and your new Robo-family have this hush-hush ulterior motive that I'm not privy to. And I don't know if it's them or your time in hell, which by the way you still won't talk about, or if it's something else altogether. But I intend to find out, one way or another." His chest heaving from the emotional exertion, Dean turned back to where Castiel was now waiting quietly, watching and listening. "So, Cas, please." He cringed at the pleading in his own voice. "What's wrong with Sam."

"Other than his soul, there is nothing wrong with Sam."

"My soul?" Sam squeaked.

Dean flashed Sam an 'I told you so' glare and then whipped his head back around towards Castiel. "His soul?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, the muse is still whispering, so while I've got creative juices flowing, I'd better keep going.**

**Disclaimer: Again, sadly not mine. **

Then:

And I don't know if it's them or your time in hell, which by the way you still won't talk about, or if it's something else altogether. But I intend to find out, one way or another." His chest heaving from the emotional exertion, Dean turned back to where Castiel was now waiting quietly, watching and listening. "So, Cas, please." He cringed at the pleading in his own voice. "What's wrong with Sam?"

"Other than his soul, there is nothing wrong with Sam."

"My soul?" Sam squeaked.

Dean flashed Sam an 'I told you so' glare and then whipped his head back around towards Castiel. "His soul?"

Now:

"What did you do?" The threatening growl emanated so low in Dean's throat that it could barely be heard over Sam's heartbeat. But Sam jumped a little, none the less, at his brother's 'danger' voice.

"What?" Sam's voice squeaked. "Dean, I…"

"Did you make a deal?"

"No! What? God, no. I wouldn't do that. Not after you and Dad." _Was that panic?_ It was certainly a feeling Sam hadn't felt since…since arriving topside.

Dean's scowl deepened, aging his green eyes. He turned his glare on Castiel and took a menacing step towards the angel. "You knew about this? And what? You just _forgot_ to mention it? What happened to our 'profound relationship', Cas?"

"I _am_ sorry, Dean. I tend to forget that these things are not immediately obvious to humans."

"Is there a handbook for this crap up there?" Dean jammed his index finger skyward. "Cuz if there is, I'd sure appreciate you Xeroxing a copy off for me. It would be nice to know some of this…Shit..._In advance_!"

"Dean." Sam tried to soothe his brother with a calm voice, even though calm was the last thing he was feeling at the moment.

"Sam! Unless you got some magical answer to all the questions floating around in my head, you better leave well enough alone." Sam's eyes widened in surprise.

"What the Hell did I do? I'm as confused about all of this as you are."

"Right." Making sure sarcasm was turned up full tilt. "You've got no idea. At all." For the first time in the two months since he'd discovered that his brother was alive and well, Dean felt the famous Winchester angst fully seep into him. His hands began to shake. He gripped them together and began to wring his emotions out of them. Taking a few cleansing breaths and a moment to smooth out his tussled shirt layers, Dean finally came to a decision.

"Right. So go ahead, Cas. Work your mojo."

"My what?" The angel cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

"Lay your hands on him. Suss it out. I wanna know who's holding the key to Sammyland."

"What?" Once again, Sam was on his feet, weaving just a little as his panicked heart tried to keep up with his movements. Dean turned his crazed eyes back on his brother.

"Oh! So, you're just fine torturing an innocent kid, but you can't _man_ up for your own damned soul? Get over it, Sam. _We're_ doing this."

Castiel stepped forward and stood beside Sam as a united front against the irrational man in front of them. "Dean, it does not work that way."

"Okay, so tell me how it works. Really, I want a _friggin'_ handbook!"

"If I were able to tell you who owns Sam's soul, I would do so immediately." Dean quirked an eyebrow at the angel as if to say 'And?' "The name will be etched on the soul."

This time Dean didn't allow Castiel the dramatic pause. "And? Dammit, Cas. Spell it out for me if you have to."

Castiel gave Dean a patronizing look before continuing. "The name is indeed etched on the soul, but Sam's soul and his body are separated. Without knowing where to find his soul, I cannot give you a name. I _am_ sorry."

Sam's knees gave out on him and he found a seat quickly on the bed once again. "This just keeps getting better and better," he mumbled.

"Finally starting to worry about yourself a bit there, Sam? Good. About freakin' time. You know I thought we agreed a year ago that it was time for me to stop being 'Sam's Protector'. That you were a real boy now and could take care of yourself."

"I am, Dean." On any other day, the look he had received from Sam would have burnt a hole in his best leather jacket, but not today. Today Dean was on a roll.

"Yeah, well, fine job you're doing there Pinocchio. Care to feed me any more lies? I'd like to see you with a two foot long nose. It'll be _fun_!" And then mock humor in Dean's voice faded as his wild eyed energy wore out and he sagged down onto the bed across from Sam. "What do we do, Cas? Just, point us in the right direction. Anything you can give us would be…appreciated."

"As loathe as I am to suggest it, I feel that you should consult the _other_ side."

"Who? Oh, you mean a demon."

"Specifically, the demon, Crowley."

"No way," Dean was quick to dismiss the idea. "He's not very ummm, _fond_ of us right now. What with us threatening to burn ole' Fergie's bones recently."

"You may not have a choice. He is after all, in a place of great power."

"You mean he's the King of Hell," Sam piped up. They'd all but forgotten the younger Winchester as he sat quietly gathering his thoughts and wits about him. "How does that even happen, anyway? And for that matter, how does my soul get taken without either my knowledge or my permission?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all of you who have been so kind as to send me reviews. They are very much appreciated and gold in my book. **

**Disclaimer: Sigh. Still not mine. **

Then:

"You mean he's the King of Hell," Sam piped up. They'd all but forgotten the younger Winchester as he sat quietly gathering his thoughts and wits about him. "How does that even happen, anyway? And for that matter, how does my soul get taken without either my knowledge or my permission?"

Now:

Sam stood up from the bed and crossed the room in three long strides to the small table where their stacks of research were strewn about. He began sifting through the mess, haphazardly tossing books on to the chair to his right.

"What are you looking for, Sam?" Dean asked, coming to his side.

"The journal."

"Dad's journal?" Dean reached into his duffle and pulled the old leather volume out and placed it on the table. "It's right here."

"No. My journal. Here." Pulling the black leather binder from beneath a pile of paperwork, he leafed through a few pages until he found what he was looking for. He sat down into the second chair and pulled a sheet of paper out of the stack, only glancing at the notes briefly to be sure they weren't necessary and then turned it over and began scribbling on the back. "Okay, so we need a few things if we're gonna call Crowley's ass up here. Can you scrounge them up for me?"

"Mmkay and what are you gonna be doin' there, Chief?"

"Gotta make a phone call," Sam said, shoving the list of ingredients into Dean's chest and rose from the table snatching up his jacket and phone in one fluid motion.

"Gonna call Grandpa and tell him the big news?" Dean asked with mock excitement as Sam made his way towards and out the front door. "Hey, while you're at it, why don't you ask him if he's missing _his_ soul too!" he hollered after Sam. "Son of a bitch," Dean growled.

Dean swung around to grab his jacket and was surprised to actually find Castiel still standing in the center of the room. Narrowing his eyes at the angel, Dean hmmphed his frustration towards his friend.

"Thought you would have blinked out by now. I know you're a busy celestial…whatever."

"I am." Castiel nodded. "I assumed you would have more questions."

Dean took a deep breath and gave himself a moment for a little clarity before he began.

"How long have you known?" Dean's voice had leveled out into a calmer note although the stress was still visible around his eyes.

"About Sam's soul? Or Sam in general?"

"Both, I guess."

"We have known about Sam's raising since the hour it took place." Dean frowned at that bit of news, but remained quiet. "When I did not hear from either of you, I assumed perhaps wrongly that you had found a way to bring him back."

"Wait. What do you mean, when you didn't hear from either of us? Sam said he tried to get a hold of you. He said he prayed time and time again and never got an answer from you. Was he lying about that too?"

"I do not believe so, no. Dean, souls can be a complex matter. The best explanation that I can give you is that without a soul, his prayers would not reach me. I simply did not hear Sam's prayers."

_Cut off from Heaven._ Dean's brow furled more. The nausea that rolled through him at the thought of his brother being shunned by Heaven nearly brought Dean to his knees. _After everything we've done. Everything Sam's done and he's cut off._

Sam rolled his finger through the contacts on his phone, finding the one he was looking for and then pressed the button to connect. He hadn't gone far from the motel, just far enough for a little privacy. He'd heard Dean's brisk comment about their grandfather and although he hadn't agreed with Dean's mistrust before, Sam was now beginning to have doubts of his own. Logic told him that if he, himself was raised sans soul, that Samuel was probably likewise resurrected. And Sam's first instinct was to call the Campbell compound to give them the warning first-hand. But that's not the direction his fingers had done their walking to.

"Singer," Bobby's gruff greeting met Sam's ear and tugged his mouth into a small smile.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Sam."

"You got a minute? I need to pick your brain."

"Sure, Son. Whatcha got?"

"Souls. What do you know about them?"

"Well, I know that it's possible to win one back after a deal gone wrong," Bobby smirked into the phone, a weight having been lifted off of him recently.

"Okay, let's start there. You and Dean both made a deal for your souls. But you didn't actually _lose_ your soul? I mean, you got to keep it until the end of the deal, right?"

"Yeah, I guess that's about right. What they _don't_ tell you is the damned contract is scrawled all over your body. One snap of that little prick's fingers and you're lit up like a Christmas tree. Downright embarrassing looking into your shorts to find Crowley's snooty handwriting there. Makes a man feel dirty."

Sam bit back the grin forming and continued while he could still keep a straight thought.

"Have you ever heard of a human _not_ having their soul? Like being separated from it completely?"

"What, you mean and still be walkin' around?" Bobby couldn't disguise the sound of revulsion in his voice. "We're not talking monsters here, are we? What did you boys stumble across now?"

*I'm may not get a chance to update this until next week. But don't give up, I'll be continuing my quest all the while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoa, okay so now my lil world has to go AU, cuz I was totally not ready for what Sam did in tonight's episode, (LFOTH). So, I'm just going to pretend that I didn't watch and keep rolling. This one's a bit short.**

**Disclaimer: I really, really want them to be mine, but alas neither Sam nor Dean will come home with me. S'okay, my husband wouldn't appreciate it anyway. ****L**

Then:

"Have you ever heard of a human _not_ having their soul? Like being separated from it completely?"

"What, you mean and still be walkin' around?" Bobby couldn't disguise the sound of revulsion in his voice. "We're not talking monsters here, are we? What did you boys stumble across now?"

Now:

"Dammit, Boy. What did you do?" The old man's ruff growl mirrored Dean from the earlier conversation and again, Sam twinged a bit out of self-preservation.

"Why does everybody keep asking me that? I didn't _do_ anything, Bobby." Sam heard a deep sigh from the other end of the phone line, followed shortly by a muffled, guttural noise that he instantly recognized as a healthy pull from a whiskey bottle. He waited quietly for Bobby's thoughts and all the while his own mind was spinning with notions.

"Sam, this sorta thing doesn't just happen," Bobby interrupted Sam's thinking. "Not without there being some kind of consequence."

"Are you talking about my soul or me being pulled from the pit?"

"I don't know. Either. Or both maybe." Bobby sounded suddenly exhausted. "What's your brother think about all this? Or does he even know yet? You have told him. Right, Sam?"

"Yeah, he knows. Pretty sure he figures I did this somehow. He's out on a run to pick up ingredients for the summoning ritual."

"For who? Crowley? Oh yeah, he's gonna be _real _helpful. Ten to one odds says he's the lil pissant that owns your soul anyhow. Listen, you don't trust a damn thing that demon says, you got that? We ain't got a thing on him anymore and he's got no reason to level with us or help you in any way. So, you be damned careful. We can't handle any more _bad_ deals."

"Aw, sounds like you miss him, Bobby."

"Oh, well, I see missing your soul hasn't _completely_ sucked the sense of humor out of you."

"Am I really that different?" Sam asked slightly defensive.

"Apples and oranges, Son. Sorry. Don't you _feel_ different? What did you think was happening to you? I mean, before finding out about this soul business."

"I don't know. Post Traumatic Stress, I guess. I hadn't really thought about it. I guess once I'd settled on the fact that I wasn't going to tell Dean that I was back, I just kind of threw myself into the work. I've had more focus this past year than I've had since being at Stanford. Felt good and I didn't see anything wrong with what I was doing."

"Sam, there's been plenty wrong with what you've been doing this last year. Just don't think you see it that way." Sam was a surprised by this statement, but Bobby didn't give him a chance to comment. "I think it would be best if you boys came home to do the summoning. There's a few things we need to discuss. I'll have the coffee and research on the table for when ya get here. Alright?"

"Yea, okay," Sam sighed resolutely. "We're about a four hour drive from you, so I guess you can expect us for breakfast."

"Eggs will be served 6am sharp. Better be here by then." And without another word, the line was disconnected. Sam frowned slightly at his phone and turned to walk back towards the motel. There was a lot to consider before 6am.

Dean looked up sharply at Sam when he finally rolled in the room. "Christmas, Sam. Where've you been? Does it take an hour to make one phone call?"

"Had a lot to talk about." Sam cast his eyes around the room upon entering. "Cas take off?"

"Like a bird. Well, how's the fam? Got the family vacation all planned out?"

"Fine. Bobby's fine." Deans eyebrows reached up for his hairline in surprise.

"You called Bobby?"

"Yea, Dean. I called Bobby. Seemed like the best option."

"Oh. Well, yeah. That makes sense I guess. What'd he say?"

"He says 'Come home and breakfast is served at 6,' so you better get your stuff packed up. You get everything we need?"

"Yes, Mom."


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh, so some of you apparently think I'm crazy cuz I keep posting chapter after chapter. Yes, yes. I am. Crazy like a fox. And **_**desperate**_** to get this finished from this coming Friday.**

**Disclaimer: I thought maybe the boys had finally come home, but alas it was the guy down the street in his Camaro. I guess beggars can't be choosers.**

_**Then:**_

"You called Bobby?"

"Yea, Dean. I called Bobby. Seemed like the best option."

"Oh. Well, yeah. That makes sense I guess. What'd he say?"

"He says 'Come home and breakfast is served at 6,' so you better get your stuff packed up. You get everything we need?"

"Yes, Mom."

_**Now:**_

For two men, who had spent nearly the entire lives inside the warm embrace of this 1967 Impala, they could for the first time honestly say that _this _was the longest four hour drive in the history of four hour drives. Both sat silently on the bench seat, minds whirling with thoughts that neither were ready to share with the other. Both of them ignoring the elephant in the room, or in this case, the elephant in the backseat.

Bobby was waiting on the porch when they pulled in the drive of Singer Auto Salvage. They could see him leaning against a weathered column, pulling sips from his coffee cup, warming his hands and his face in the steam. He lifted his chin in greeting as Dean slipped the Impala into park and both boys exited the car. As one they circled around to the trunk and removed their separate duffle bags as well as three paper shopping bags. Sam took the porch steps three at a time, his brother trailing only slightly behind him.

"Bobby." Dean's voice, raw from misuse, announced their official arrival.

"Dean. How was the drive?" Bobby's meaning was clear although unspoken. He flashed a wary glance at the younger man as Sam passed him, heading into the house without so much as a 'Boo'.

"Quiet. Look, I brought you something." Dean grinned, reaching into one of the brown bags and pulled out a bottle of scotch. Bobby reached out and accepted the bottle and eyed the label.

"Good brand, but it's already open," he groused.

"Yea, sorry. Needed a little something to take the edge off. It was a _long_ drive." Dean smirked and moved past Bobby to join his brother inside. "Breakfast still available?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned toward the house following Dean in. They were met by the warm aroma of the bacon the older hunter has finished cooking up just a minute before the boys' arrival. Dean tossed the bags down on the sofa and entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the plate of meat. He snatched up a strip of bacon and popped one end into his mouth, letting it dangle there where the grease could soak into his lips. Reaching into the too short fridge, Dean took out the carton of eggs, a jar of grape jam and set to work on cooking up the rest of their breakfast. "Here, make yourself useful," he barked at his brother, tossing the jam sideways at him.

A few minutes later the three men were all seated around the small kitchen table sucking the food down as quickly as their hands could bring it to their mouths. Seated side by side, Sam and Dean were leaned over the table, heads together, scanning the research Bobby had promised to have available for them. The only noise in the room was the occasional metal to porcelain scrape as Dean polished off his eggs, joined by the rare 'hmm' from Sam as he nodded in thought while he read.

Dean was the first of the boys to come up for air. He looked across the table and considered his friend for a moment. Bobby was sat back in his chair, rocking backwards on the two hind legs, still sipping from a half warm cup. Feeling the gaze, the older hunter raised his eyes and met Dean's look, a million words passing between them silently in that instant. After a moment's nonverbal conversation, Dean glanced sideways at his brother and then quickly away, shaking his head in regret. _Used to be able to talk to Sam in that way, _he thought.

"Bobby," the introduction of a voice to the room nearly made them all jump out of their skin. Dean probably more so than anyone as he hadn't heard Sam's voice in nearly five hours. "There's a lot of information here. Any suggestions on how we narrow it down a little, maybe something that's more pertinent to my situation?"

"That's the thing, Son, I never heard of a situation like yours before. There's endless amounts of information out there on souls. Every religion and philosophy has it's own ideas and not a one of them agree completely."

"Course not, that'd be too easy," Dean grumped. "What's all this crap about Thymos, Eros, and Logos? Are we building with kiddy blocks now?"

"Logos, Dean. Not Legos." Sam slid the book over more in front of Dean and pulled a frown as he watched his older brother lean in to focus on the words. "Do you need glasses?"

"What? No! Dude, I've got road-weary eyes," Dean defended quickly.

"Right." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Plato was a student of Socrates…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don't need a history lesson here. Just…get to the point."

"Plato," Sam paused to see if he'd be allowed to finish. When Dean gave him a look, but didn't speak up immediately, Sam continued. "Basically he defined the soul as one's essence. It's what decides how we behave. And when we die the soul's reborn into the next body and the next, continually."

"Is that where the term 'old soul' comes from?" Dean asked.

"Kind of. Old soul is usually associated with a child that is just wise or mature beyond their age. But some kids are born with more knowledge or skill sets than should be possible for them to have."

"I'm an old soul," Dean said, his chin jutted out proudly as he nodded in agreement with Sam's definition.

"Like Hell," Bobby growled in amusement. Dean's eyes flashed his outrage, but his lips turned up into a smirk.

"The Platonic Soul is broken down into three parts. Logos which is the mind or reason, Thymos is emotion & Eros is appetite or desire."

"Well, that cuts it. Sam, my man, you're screwed." Dean flinched immediately at his own joke. It wasn't really a laughing matter, but this had always been his modus operandi. Poke fun at what you can't control.

"How do you figure?" Sam questioned. At this, Bobby brought his chair back down onto four legs and leaned across the table, his hands together in a mock prayer. Without saying a word, he immediately had both boys complete attention.

"You asked me last night if I thought you were really that different." Sam nodded his remembrance.

"Apples and oranges, you said," Sam echoed.

"That may even be a bit light in contrast. If pre-Hell Sam was an apple, post-Hell Sam is a…a steel post?"

"That's a bit harsh. Right?" Sam turned to Dean for backup. Dean shrugged, his face expressionless.

"I don't know. Cold & stiff kinda describe you pretty well." Sam's face screwed up like he's just sucked in a bad lemon. Bobby watched from across the table. His eyes narrowed to catch every possible action or reaction. He didn't want blood spilled on his floor this early in the day. And Dean wasn't done. Not by a long shot. "I'd also use wooden, dull, boring, unemotional…"

"Damn, Dean. Tell me how you really feel."

"Oh, I'm not done yet. Unreadable, impassive, unreasonable, insensitive, heartless & devious."

"Devious. Really. So, this is how you spent a four hour drive, huh? Thinking of clever little adjectives to use on me. That's very good, Dean. Remind me to buy you a dictionary for Christmas. We may get you into college yet."

"You friggin' asked, Dude. S'not like I can hurt your feelings, right?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Actually," Bobby spoke up, sliding a open book across the table. "That may not be entirely true."

"What is this?" Dean turned the cover to peak at the title. His eyes lit up with delight "Hey look, Sam! Bobby got me a dictionary."

*_I may yet get chapter 6 finished tonight. Cross your fingers and hold your breath._

_*Okay, don't really hold your breath. Geez._


	6. Chapter 6

**Holy Crap! Did I just publish two chapters in less than 6 hours? Yes, I think I did. Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews. They are like liquid gold love and I spoon them into a mason jar for preservation. 3**

**Disclaimer: I was approached by Crowley today to deal over the ownership of these guys, but then Bobby warned me not to trust the lil prick.**

**Then:**

"Devious. Really. So, this is how you spent a four hour drive, huh? Thinking of clever little adjectives to use on me. That's very good, Dean. Remind me to buy you a dictionary for Christmas. We may get you into college yet."

"You friggin' asked, Dude. S'not like I can hurt your feelings, right?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Actually," Bobby spoke up, sliding a open book across the table. "That may not be entirely true."

"What is this?" Dean turned the cover to peak at the title. His eyes lit up with delight "Hey look, Sam! Bobby got me a dictionary."

**Now:**

They'd picked up and had moved into the library where they'd be able to stretch their research out across the desk and have access to Bobby's DSL. Dean leant again the doorway reading through his new 'present' and straightened suddenly. When he spoke, his bass carried an air of significance and authority.

"According to the American Heritage Dictionary, the definition of soulless, and by that I mean Sam is and I quote 'lacking sensitivity or the capacity for _deep_ feeling'."

"Thank you, Professor," Sam piped up sarcastically from beneath a stack of paperwork. Bobby, sitting on the sofa with a notebook in this lap and an old tome in his hand, quirks a smile up at both boys, relishing in the brief moment of brotherly banter. He knew it couldn't last long.

"See. Lacks capacity for feeling."

"That's not what it says," Sam argued, but Dean didn't give him a moment's notice before continuing.

"This is what I've been trying to tell you for weeks. It's like your just going through the motions."

Sam shakes his head in disagreement and turns back to the papers he's sorting through. Not to blown off, Dean starts across the room, snapping his fingers for attention.

"Hey, listen to me. Just…hear me out." He pauses until his brother eyes meet his. "What do you remember about our life before you, you know, _took the big swan dive_?"

"Everything," Sam deadpans.

Dean's eyes spark in anger, "Don't feed me a line of crap, Sam. What do you remember?" Sam looks to Bobby for aid, but finds the old hunter waiting for an answer as well.

"Is this really necessary?" Finding himself pressed between to frowns, he had no other choice but to answer. What normally _would_ have, what _should_ have come out as a classic Sammy tirade, instead flowed out of Sam as a calm explanation. And Dean shivered as he listened to his brother's quiet, steady voice.

"Dean, I remember everything. Before, during, and after, okay? I remember growing up with Dad, protected my entire life by you. I remember taking off for school and Jessica and everything. Every monster and demon and ghost. Every near death and real death and every deal made. I remember every fight we ever had that made me want to throttle you and every moment where I couldn't stand to be without you." He stopped a moment to take a deep breath and then continued in that same steady voice. And now both Dean and Bobby were trembling.

"I remember watching, feeling really, Lucifer kill Cas and break _your_ neck," he turned to pass a glance at Bobby.

"I remember him using me to beat you within an inch of your life and then I remember taking it all back from him and throwing him and Michael and Adam and myself, all of us, into the pit. I remember the pit," and before Dean can take another step towards him, Sam puts a hand up to stop his brother.

"And no, I don't want to talk about it. Not now, maybe not ever. It doesn't matter anymore. None of it does. That was a different life. I have a new life. I've started over. What's done is done and there's no going back and I don't know that I'd want to go back if I could."

"So, what? You don't want your soul back?" The crease in Dean's forehead was now contending for position with the Grand Canyon and his voice had risen high enough to compete with pre-pubescent Dean. The shock more than evident.

"I don't know, Dean. I don't even know what that means exactly. I can make that decision when we understand what we're dealing with. Look, we'll summon Crowley, get our answers from him and then we'll gank the Son of a Bitch." Dean's pupils dilated immediately in anger.

"That, right there! That's my line. That's not you. I'm the hardass in this family! Me, not you!" Dean slammed his closed fists down on top of the desk, leaning over it to glare at his brother.

"Come on. So what if I used your line. Do I need to pay you royalties on it? Here." Sam stood and reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty throwing it on the desk in front of Dean and wasn't surprised when Dean swiped it up off the desktop and tucked it into his shirt pocket with a nod. Sam then turned to Bobby still sitting on the sofa.

"Can you talk some sense into him. He's gonna have a heart attack if he keeps this up."

"Sam, _please._ Don't pretend to care about my heart _now_. You just said that the past is past and it doesn't matter anymore. That I," Dean pauses and then thumbs between himself and Bobby. "That we don't matter anymore…"

"Boys," Bobby's deep growl effectively puts a kibosh anything further that Dean was prepared to say. "That's enough. I don't need my neighbor lady calling Sheriff Mills on me, _again_. Sit down, both of you." The hunters did as they were instructed. And Bobby rolled his eyes. _Sometimes being a 'parent' is a pain in the ass. _

Dean took a cleansing breath and ran a hand deep through his hair, making it stand up in the worst possible way. He paused mid-stroke to shift a quick, ornery look back at his friend.

"Again?"

"Yea, again. What of it?"

*I know Bobby's a bit quiet in all of this. But I sometimes feel that he takes on too much responsibility w/ these two. They are grown men and should be allowed to come to terms w/ each other in their own way. For the sake of sanity, (mine, not theirs) Bobby is a mediator. He keeps the kill threshold down to an acceptable level and provides a necessary humorous break when things get bad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Wow! I just realized that these lil author notes get crazier and crazier the deeper into this fic I go. I started out so calm and collected. Lol, don't mind me. Really.**

**Disclaimer: I haven't totally given up hope, but the morning light has brought with it a more realistic view of the SPN world. It's not mine…yet.**

**Then:**

"I remember the pit," and before Dean can take another step towards him, Sam puts a hand up to stop his brother.

"And no, I don't want to talk about it. Not now, maybe not ever. It doesn't matter anymore. None of it does. That was a different life. I have a new life. I've started over. What's done is done and there's no going back and I don't know that I'd want to go back if I could."

"So, what? You don't want your soul back?"

**Now:**

"If you two _ladies_ are finished with your cat scratchin', I've got a few ideas to throw around."

"Of course, Bobby."

Dean tossed a dirty look from the sofa and silently mimicked his brother's school boy response, his nose crinkled in distaste. The younger Winchester caught the movement from the corner of his eye and breathed a humorless laugh through his nose and gave Dean no further attention. But it was too late as Bobby had also seen Dean's immaturity in action.

"You know," he said pulling around to level a dangerous look. Dean pressed his back into the sofa as a means of putting distance between himself and the grizzly bear in front of him. "You may be too damned big to put over my knee, but you're not so old I can't smack you around a bit."

"I don't know what you've heard, Bobby, but I'm not really into that kind of stuff. I'm more of a feathers and lace kinda guy." He stopped and considered for a moment and then quickly corrected himself when both men gave him a strange, wide-eyed look. "Not _wearing _them, well not me anyway. You…you know what I mean." Bobby shook his head slowly, snatched up this notebook from the sofa and presented it openly on the desk in front of Sam.

"Every culture's got their own theories on souls. Ancient Greeks related being ensouled to being alive. Before Socrates the thought was that when you died, your soul left your body and retired into Hades. No chance of coming back to a body, but then Socrates and Plato changed that. They say your soul is reincarnated."

"So, some little kid is walking around with Sammy's soul?"

"No, you idjit. These are ancient beliefs. And before you ask, no I'm not gonna cut to the chase." Dean pulled up short with a frown, but Bobby continued. "Then Aristotle comes along and half agrees with Plato, who was his teacher by the way, and says the soul is your core essence. But he disagrees about the soul being separate from the body. Thinks it can't be done. Like this pen," he picks up a discarded ink pen. "It's sole purpose is to write."

"It can stab things too," Dean interjects and grins when he sees a smirk pull at the corner of his brother's mouth.

"No, that's what _you_ do with it. But it's purpose is to write. So the pen's soul, if it had one, would be the act of writing."

"Do inanimate objects have souls?" Dean asks and Sam is quick to answer.

"Depends on what you believe. Some native tribes believe so. The rocks, rivers, wind, etcetera. If you use Bobby's example, even this pen does. Just…not me apparently."

"Was that a joke? Yea, that was a joke."

"It wasn't a joke, Dean. Just stating a fact, I guess."

"Hey, let's keep this Sunday School lesson going, shall we?" When neither young man said anything further, Bobby continued. "Most cultures believe that souls are in all living things, including animals."

"What about monsters?" Dean just couldn't help himself.

"I'll get to that," Bobby stated firmly. "Christian Bible says that it's God that makes the souls. Genesis 2:7 says 'And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.' That we _became_ a soul not that we have one. But I think that you can both attest to the fact that your soul lives beyond your body. Else what is there to torture in Hell?"

"Except I went in there, body and soul." At Sam's statement, Dean raised a hand to his brother and nodded, indicating that he agreed with the unasked question.

"I know, Son. We'll…we'll get this figured out. Don't you worry."

"He's not," Dean added and then quickly regretted the snide comment. "Sorry, Sam…Bobby." He looked down to where his worn boots were scuffing the wooden floor. Dean felt the pressure of being in over his head and guilty as well that he wasn't able to pull the answer or a plan out of a hat like usual. And that's when it hit him.

"Wait. I was tortured in Hell."

"_Congratulations_. Feeling left out were we?" was Bobby's sarcastic reply.

"No, wait. There's more. I was tortured in Hell, I mean, my soul was tortured. And then when that dick, Alastair pulled me down from the rack, I was changed, tainted or something. Like a demon. Exactly like a demon, ripping people apart and enjoying it, but it was still me, you know? So, does that mean demons have souls too?"

"Yes. And monsters too." Dean's head spun quickly toward the sound of his brother's low voice. The look on Sam's face was dark, like he was trying to fight against himself. It was the first real pensive face Dean had seen since finding out Sam was alive and he wasn't sure whether to cheer or run away in terror. So he sat still, waiting on Sam. And he could see clearly when the switch had been flicked and a decision made.

"Okay, so I haven't been totally honest with either of you."

"Shocker…Sorry," Dean apologized again. He was going to have to learn to keep better control of his verbal urges.

"Honest about what, Sam?" Bobby asked, not bothering to even shake his head at Dean.

"The Alphas. All these monsters we've been hunting lately. There's a reason that we're going after them. A reason that we just happen to keep stumbling across the Alphas. And I'm pretty sure it has to do with their souls."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: It's Monday morning and I am sad because the week is starting and I still don't own any of this.**

**Then:**

"Okay, so I haven't been totally honest with either of you."

"Shocker…Sorry," Dean apologized again. He was going to have to learn to keep better control of his verbal urges.

"Honest about what, Sam?" Bobby asked, not bothering to even shake his head at Dean.

"The Alphas. All these monsters we've been hunting lately. There's a reason that we're going after them. A reason that we just happen to keep stumbling across the Alphas. And I'm pretty sure it has to do with their souls."

**Now:**

Dean's eyes narrowed in distrust. His stomach flipping in anticipation of what Sam was about to finally reveal, uncertain of where this could possibly be going and more importantly, what kind of horrible atrocity his brother was involved in without the guidance of his own soul. And that sure as Hell was going to end now. Now that Big Brother was getting the real scoop, Dean was damned well gonna lay down a little of the Winchester law. This bullshit was gonna stop pronto, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. If Sam needed a conscience on the shoulder, then Dean was gonna be that for him. No more Sam leading the way, playing boss, setting the rules. A year's retirement didn't make him rusty, it made him more cautious and now it was obvious that's exactly what he needed to be for his brother. And as soon as he could stop the tirade marching through his head, that's exactly what he'd be…there for his brother.

"You're pretty sure?" Bobby's deep voice slammed the brakes on all of Dean's thoughts.

"There's a lot that I can be sure about and about twice as much that I don't think they want me to knowing at all."

"They?"

"Samuel and the others."

"Of course. I knew those creepy bastards were up to no good. What are they doin', Sam, torture, cutting them up and selling the parts. Ew, they're not breeding them and making weird hybrid monsters like those Cockapoodle things, are they?" Reactions were mixed. Bobby snorted a bit of coffee out his nose, while Sam only gave Dean an intense look of morbid curiosity. Dean accepted both with a shrug of satisfaction.

Bobby wiped his nose and mouth on the cuff of his shirt and shook his head as if exhausted, which he probably was. Nearly five hours of research and another two keeping these two nitwits in line was enough to make any man beg for a three day siesta.

"Sam, just…cut to the chase before I have to get Mr. Happy his pills," he thumbed in Dean's direction, who in turn kind of wavered in his spot, smirking.

"Mmmm, I like happy pills."

"Yea, alright. Well, nearest I can figure is that Samuel's been getting his information for someone higher up. I wasn't sure at first, but then I came back from my third job in as many days and he had another lined up for me as soon as I was in the door. The kind of detail and surveillance info he had on them, well, it just should have taken him a lot longer to pull jobs like that together, and he was feeding them to me nearly every other day. And not just me, the others too. Then I came back one afternoon and the compound was practically empty. One guy at the gate and no one else around. Didn't think too much of it at first. Got cleaned up and was about to catch some shut eye when I heard this big commotion out back. There are a few buildings out there, way in the back of the property. I've never seen anyone out there so I just assumed they weren't in use, but they were definitely active then."

"What was it?" Bobby asked. "Something get onto the property?"

"Brought on. Trailered in to be exact. Wendigo." Dean's breath caught and Sam looked up to find him completely sober, fixated on Sam. "I watched them from the shadows. Saw Christian unload eight tranqs into it, enough to drop a herd of elephants. Samuel was there, they all were. They're all in on it, whatever it is. I got in there later that night and he's got dozens of them. Not just Wendigos, either. Skinwalkers, Rugaru, Shtriga, you name it, they had it. Not even sure how they were holding them, some kind of binding magic I assume."

"And the Alphas?" Dean's voice barely above a rough whisper. Sam nodded and continued.

"Samuel started talking about them shortly after this. He didn't seem real satisfied with the hunts we'd all been doing, even though as far as I'd been told they'd all been successful. He never got angry, just seemed like it wasn't ever going to be enough and he double our efforts. It was about this time when I first noticed him taking a phone call that wasn't someone from the compound. He got real quiet and excused himself. Came back half an hour later with some big discovery and that's when we started researching and hunting for info on Alphas."

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely in front of him. "Why are you just now saying something about this? Didn't this sound any kind of alarms in you? At all? Undead Grandpa starts collecting monsters, news at 10. Sounds like some kind of sick joke and I just don't get it. We hunt these things, sure. Kill them even. But this is cruel, not to mention unusual. It's just not something we do, Sam. So why are you even still involved with this group?"

"Their family, Dean."

"No. We're your family, me and Bobby. They're…I don't know what they are, but they're _not_ family. They're just…wrong."

"I know that, Dean."

"Do you?"

Sam's brow knitted and it was easy for both men to see that he was trying to wrap his head around right and wrong, good versus evil. What would normally be a gut instinct was now a decision making process and without a conscience to guide him, Sam had to rely on past knowledge.

"Yea, I do. Look, I get it. Maybe a little late, but I do. I saw what was going on and tried to rationalize it and compartmentalize it, put the round peg into the square hole, whatever. It's just…without the black and white being pointed out to me; all I see is the gray. And honestly, until the pieces started coming together, I didn't see how it involved me. Samuel hadn't brought me in on it, so it wasn't my business.

"That's like the biggest first in my book. Sam Winchester not sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong. This is all just so…Twilight Zone." Dean stood up quickly from the sofa and bee lined for the kitchen. "I need a beer. Who wants one?" Bobby raised his hand without so much as a word or a look and Dean added that to his count and then looked to Sam.

"Dean, it's eight in the morning."

"Well shit, Sam. Don't start growing a conscience on me _now_. You'll have nowhere to put it till we get your soul back. You want one or not?" He didn't wait for an answer, just went and grabbed four from the fridge, cracked the first one open and had it near empty before reentering the library.

"What makes you think this is about souls?" Bobby was asking Sam when Dean placed a chilled bottle into Bobby's open and waiting hand.

"I wasn't sure at first; I'm still not one hundred percent sure. It was something that Balthazar had said about souls being valuable. If an angel like him is 'collecting' souls and Samuel is collecting monsters…it's just too strange of a coincidence to be ignored; with or without my soul."


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you ALL so much for all the wonderful reviews! I'm ecstatic and having so much fun and it's all because of you. Also, just a quick request. I did of course watch the ep 6 preview that followed ep 5, but I will not be watching the longer preview released today. I do not want it to interfere with my progress and I know it will. So, please, please, please. Nobody spoil me. Loves!**

**Disclaimer: I found an ancient Babylonian coin this morning, just lying on the ground. But wouldn't you know it, there's not a wishing well within a hundred miles of here. **

**Then:**

"What makes you think this is about souls?" Bobby was asking Sam when Dean placed a chilled bottle into Bobby's open and waiting hand.

"I wasn't sure at first; I'm still not one hundred percent sure. It was something that Balthazar had said about souls being valuable. If an angel like him is 'collecting' souls and Samuel is collecting monsters…it's just too strange of a coincidence to be ignored; with or without my soul."

**Now:**

"Using monsters as currency, well if that don't beat all." Bobby took a long pull from his bottle, "This is insane."

"Wait, since when do monsters have souls?" Dean asked, confused. "I thought they were just all," Dean raised his fist, signing the universally recognized Psycho knife stab, "kill, kill, kill."

But Sam had already considered this.

"Most of the monsters we hunt have been or still are human to some degree. Werewolves are only monsters a few days out of the month. Rugaru and Vampires were both human. Witches are also human."

"But very gross," Dean added, pretending to wipe something distasteful from his face.

"So it only makes sense that they would still possess their human soul. We just can't be sure what state that soul is in. It's got to be pretty tainted to have allowed them to change so much."

"Don't forget ghosts and demons too. Here, take a look." Bobby handed his own journal to Sam, flipped open to one of the more recent entries. Dean rounded the desk to look over his brother's shoulder. "Had to add a new page after my recent ordeal with Crowley. Reason burnin' the bones works on demons is that they're spirits, like any other ghost. Only difference is that when their human body died instead of stickin' round here as a spirit, their soul went to Hell."

"A few decades of torture will do any soul in," Dean thought out loud. "How are we _not_ flooded with demons? I'm sure the ratio of Heaven and Hell bound souls has got to be a little one sided, leanin' heavy downward. I mean, just look at what they're showin' on TV nowadays. Every dickhead with a nine o'clock spot probably sold his soul to get there."

"Lucky for us, they're all stuck in Hell," Bobby groused. "Takes something _special_ to make it topside."

"So if Gramps is workin' for someone, collecting monsters; why isn't he collecting demons and ghosts too?"

"Incorporeal?" Sam suggested, pulling a contemplative face.

"Demons have bodies," Dean shot back.

"Demon's have meat suits. Black smoke you see leavin' the body, that's their soul. How you gonna contain that? A mason jar? Come to think of it, I'd like to see Crowley squirmin' round in a mason jar." Bobby had a smug, satisfied look on his face and Dean could see the wheels turning. He leaned in a bit closer and whisper over Sam's shoulder.

"They make such a cute couple."

"I heard that," Bobby growled. Tried as he might, Sam couldn't contain the smirk inching up on his face and for a split second, Bobby could have sworn he saw a shimmer of the old Sam in his eyes. Then as quickly as it appeared it was gone. Inwardly, Bobby promised to do everything in his worldly power to restore his youngest boy to one hundred percent, even if it meant having a private repeat 'conversation' with Crowley. To Bobby, this young man's soul was worth a thousand of his own.

Dean sat back on his heels, hands resting inside the front pockets of his jeans. "Any idea who Samuel might be working with? Ever hear a name or anything?" he asked Sam.

"Not a thing. But I have been thinking about it and I'm just wondering if it's got something to do with his resurrection, maybe even mine for that matter. Maybe workin' for whoever brought him back from Heaven; a payment for doing the deed?"

"Let's see. Who do we know that has that kind of power? Enough juice to pull both of you out?"

"An angel? Cas, maybe?"

"Naw, he really doesn't know a thing about it. I double checked. Whoever…whatever did this, it wasn't sanctioned by Heaven. And who said Samuel was in Heaven anyway?"

"He did." Sam frowned at Dean's eye roll. "I was there, remember? He told you that he was pulled down same time as I was pulled up."

"You know, you being soulless hasn't made you any less naïve. When you gonna start listenin' to my gut and stop trustin' everything Samuel says?

"Dean's right, Sam. 'Bout time you stopped putting so much weight behind your Granddad's words. Gonna get real heavy carryin' round all the crap. Seems to me it's just as likely that whoever brought you out did the same for him. And an angel ain't bringin' you back without a soul. S'gotta be a demon. If Crowley's not our black eyed S.O.B., then he sure as Hell knows who is."

"You really think Crowley had something to do with it? Is he that strong?"

"It's an established fact that he's the new King of Hell," Dean said, adding "whatever that means. How else does he get into that kind of position without buying his way in? God knows he didn't get there with his winning personality. I say we get this party started. How we gonna play this? Bobby, any ideas?"

"Yeah, we play nice," Bobby suggested grinning, always the voice of reason.

Fifteen minutes and a few drops of blood later and Bobby was staring through the ritual smoke at the well tailored Scotsman.

"Bobby, we've _really_ got to stop meeting like this. The other demons are starting to talk."

"They're not the only ones," Dean piped up from the doorway.

"Lovely, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber."

"Who are you calling Tweedle Dee? Do I look like a fat kid in a striped jumpsuit to you?"

"Dean, I'm not positive, but I'm not sure this qualifies as playing nice."

"Shut it, Sam."

_* Every dickhead with a nine o'clock spot probably sold his soul to get there. – so that's my personal little poke at Kripke. No way a man creates a show this fabulous without making some kind of deal. _

_* Bobby promised to do everything in his worldly power to restore his youngest boy to one hundred percent – I am in total love with Bobby. And for me it's that he loves these boys so strongly, both of them, together, individually, equally. I used 'his youngest' purposefully because I feel that's how he sees them, as his. _

_*Who all caught Dean's Tweedle Dee line? If Sam had been himself, he'd have caught that jab. Poor Sammy._


	10. Chapter 10

**You have no idea how hard it is to ignore YouTube. It's CALLING my name, but I must **_**RESIST**_**! Ugh! It's practically painful!**

**Disclaimer: I tried to entice them all with chocolate, but only some tall kid named Jared showed up. **

**Then:**

"Lovely, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber."

"Who are you calling Tweedle Dee? Do I look like a fat kid in a striped jumpsuit to you?"

"Dean, I'm not positive, but I'm not sure this qualifies as playing nice."

"Shut it, Sam."

**Now:**

"Wait. There's something not right here." Crowley lifted an index finger for quiet and surprisingly the hunters all became quiet. He cast his eyes about the room, listening for something unheard. Dean subconsciously began to mimic Crowley's movements, wide eyes looking, sharp ears listening for the unseen danger that the demon was hunting for and then jumped when Crowley spoke again. "No devils trap? Are you _bumpkins_ losing your touch? Or have you all just got a death wish?"

"No death wish," Bobby stated brusquely with a confident smile. "We're callin' a business meeting and we'd like you to join us. Have a seat," indicating towards the kitchen, he was followed by Dean and Sam. With nowhere else to go and his interest piqued, Crowley was quick to follow.

"You do know that I am a busy man?"

"We're aware. We'll make it worth your while." Bobby took four glasses down out of the cupboard, eyeing them for cleanliness before setting them on the kitchen table. "Sam?"

"Right." Sam pulled a paper bag off the counter and presented it to Crowley as he entered the room.

"What's this?" He took the bag cautiously and peered inside. There was a moment's hesitation felt throughout the room and then Crowley's eyes lit up in delight. He reached into the brown paper and pulled a shiny new bottle of Craig brand Scotch from within. "Aw, Love. You remembered," he gushed. "Does this mean we're going steady?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and smacked Dean across the chest when the younger man openly bit back a laugh.

"Shall we call this meeting to order?" Crowley took a seat at the table, cracking open the bottle label and spinning the cap loose. He poured himself a dram and lifted the glass to his nose, eyes closing in bliss and then pressed the glass to his lips. "Mmm, nicely aged," he purred. "This set you back a few quid, so what is it that you want, Gentlemen?"

Sam came to the table, sitting opposite of Crowley. "May I?" he asked indicating the bottle. Crowley nodded his agreement and watched as Sam also poured two fingers into a glass. He set the bottle down and lifted his drink, following Crowley's lead in his first taste of the pale golden whiskey.

"Out with it, Longlegs," Crowley said after a moment. "What is it that you want? I've got a lower dimension to run. Things tend to, excuse the pun, go to Hell quickly without me there."

Sam set his glass down and straightened into his full seated height, all business. "Fine. I'll be quick. We'd like to discuss my soul." Dean was quick to notice Sam's choice of words; 'we' rather than 'I' and he frowned at his brother's back. _He's still just going through the motions_.

"I only make deals now on Mondays and every other Friday. Sorry, chum."

"Not looking for a deal." Sam rested his arms on the table, hands clasped quietly together. His eyes suddenly dark with intent and his voice was deathly still. A lesser man might have trembled beneath the weight of all that _silence_. Crowley however leaned forward in curiosity, interested to find out where the young hunter was taking this 'meeting'. "Besides, you already know that I have nothing left to deal with. Right?"

Crowley gave a knowing leer. He leaned back in his chair, amused. "Tell me if I've got this right." He looked first to Dean who was leaning against the kitchen sink. "Wasn't you that figured this out, because he's," pointing back to Sam, "the brains of this operation. Wasn't Sam because as educated as he might be, there's no one home to tell him there is a problem. Sure wasn't Bobby. Bobby's had his own soul problems to deal with. Thank you very much for that, by the way. I've been meaning to go back home for a while, visit my old stomping grounds. So that just leaves the missing member of this sad little quartet. How is your pet angel, Dean? I hear there's a bit of discord up there that he's having to attend to. I can certainly relate…in my own way."

Bobby put a steadying hand in the crook of Dean's arm to reign in the boy's anger. No use blowing this 'mission' in the first five minutes. A sideways glance from Dean found Bobby conveying silent orders to 'calm down and play nice'. Dean closed his eyes, took a few contemplative breaths and then moved into action. He grabbed a chair, spun it around before straddling it backwards to sit between his brother and the crossroads demon. Without asking permission, he helped himself to a glass of Scotch, threw it back in one large gulp to the horror and disgust of Crowley. Then wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, forever sealing the demon's bad opinion of him.

"Fergus. Can I call you Fergus?"

"Must you?"

"Fergus, let's pretend we're friends." He crossed his arms around the back of the chair and leveled a serious look of concern at his _new_ friend. "I understand that things have been a tense downstairs and I _feel_ your pain. It can't be easy, taking all that responsibility on by yourself. I'd like to help. _We'd _like to help," Dean's hand making a circling motion to include both Bobby and Sam. Crowley was uncertain whether he should feel amused or annoyed. He drained his glass and reached for a refill and decided to be amused. He even refreshed both Sam and Dean's drinks and served up a healthy dram for Bobby, offering it with a slight nod.

"What exactly are you proposing?"

Sam watched his brother, curiously. Wondering why he was taking such left handed turn away from the issue of Sam's soul. Dean had always been the straight shooter and was more likely to knock you sideways with truth than to handle you with kid gloves. So why the soft touch now? Then it occurred to Sam. Dean was over compensating for Sam's loss. Doing a miserable job at it, but trying all the same. Sam's eyes softened just a bit as he watched Dean heartily negotiate the terms of his proposition, but was suddenly brought back to the present by those same negotiations.

"We'll handle your topside issues for you. Like…'Hunters for Hire'."


	11. Chapter 11

**Ooo, this is an important one. And in the words of Radar O'Reily, "That is all." Sorry if you don't get the reference. And DON'T panic. It doesn't mean I'm done with this.**

**Disclaimer: After this chapter, I should at least be allowed on set and get to drive the Impala. I'm exhausted!**

**Then:**

"_We'd _like to help."

"What exactly are you proposing?"

"We'll handle your topside issues for you. Like…'Hunters for Hire'."

**Now:**

Bobby cleared his throat in an obvious disagreement to Dean's statement, but Dean just barely raised a hand to quell the argument. Dean had a plan and even though it made Bobby nervous, he'd be a fool to go against Dean's gut instinct.

"You seem to think I need help with, as you put it, topside issues."

"No, I think you need _better _help."

Crowley considered this for a moment, stroking a lone finger across his bottom lip. This was the best game of chess he'd played in the better part of a century and he was almost tingling with excitement at the thought of his opponent's next move. Completely unconcerned with his own move, because as the King of Hell all he had to do was hold up a hand and the board would be wiped clean. It was a win-win situation.

"It's a win-win situation," Dean stated plainly. Crowley was slightly taken aback, his own thoughts being thrown back at him. "We're hunters, Crowley. _It's what we do_. You have work for us? We wanna work. We're the best there is and _you know it_. What have you accomplished in the last year? You pull a soul outta Hell and throw it back in the body of an old man, no offense Bobby."

Dean's apologetic eyes quickly searched for Bobby's only to find dark eyebrows hanging very low on his forehead. There'd be time later, so he continued. "An old man, who by the way has been dead and out of the game for over thirty years. Toss in his three bumbling sidekicks, none of whom would know a real hunter if one walked up and put a salt round in their ass. And the one good asset that you _do_ have," nodding his head towards Sam, "is left in the dark about the work he's actually being given. That's not good business sense, Fergus. You've put the wrong people in charge, but we can still salvage your little operation_. If_ you give us the chance.

"Say I am interested. Why do I choose you lot? What's in it for you?"

"It's simple. Being a hunter is hard livin'. You make life a little bit easier for us and we'll return the favor."

Crowley was about to throw Dean an approving comment when the young man added, "You can start by returning Sam's soul." And then it was gone. The thoughtful look on Crowley's face was replaced in an instant with one of firm resolve and Dean watched Sam's chance slide away from him.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. What _am_ I to do with you? You almost had me sold there, Mate. If I we're being truthful, I _was_ sold." There was a collective inward groan from the hunters in the room at what was apparently a missed opportunity.

"If you ever decide to give this _lovely_ lifestyle up, please be sure to look me up. I'd be more than happy to add you to my sales crew, if you catch my meaning." Crowley stood and pushed himself back from the table.

"But I am afraid I will have to decline your very interesting offer. It's been a lot of fun, boys. We'll have to do this again. Thanks very much for the Scotch." Dean scrambled from his chair in a frantic attempt to stop Crowley from leaving them high and dry.

"Wait." Sam's level tenor voice rang quietly through the room, successfully stopping all motion. "We just need a few answers. Can you, can you give us that?"

Once again, Dean noted Sam's use of 'we'. It bothered him. If he could have one wish, right then, it would be that Sam could _own_ his problem. Make it all his and stop letting this be about Dean's issue with Sam. It wasn't Dean's intention to retrieve Sam's soul for himself. He was doing this for Sam. Right?

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed deeply taking a moment to think on it and then rolled his eyes. "Fine. I've become such a softy in my old age. What do you want to know?"

Dean threw and panicked glance at his brother. _God, please ask the right question,_ he begged silently. _Don't let me be the one to screw this up for you._

"You…don't have my soul. Do you?" Sam shook his head like he already knew the answer.

"No." Crowley's head shake was perfectly timed to match Sam's. "No, I don't."

"But, you know who does," Bobby contributed quietly.

"I believe I'm going to need another drink," Crowley found his seat again and refilled his glass. "Shall we reconvene the meeting? Bobby, care to join us?" Dean turned his chair around and subconsciously inched it closer to Sam's, leaving Bobby to occupy the chair directly next to Crowley.

"Don't go getting any kinky ideas," he stated gruffly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley responded innocently. "It's not a _who,_ but a where." After a few puzzling looks were passed back and forth across the table, he spared them all the trouble of asking. "After Stretch here took back his body and cast Lucifer back into the cage…well, let's just say that Lucifer is no longer the 'Morning Star' hero of Hell. I'll never be able to say that we'll be rid of him, but there's no demon left that will follow him either. It was a struggle for a while, what with no leader. But as they say, those with the most toys, wins. And Boys, I have one gigantic toy box." He grinned, taking a moment to appear really proud of himself.

"And Sam's soul?" Being the voice of reason didn't make Bobby the patient voice of reason.

"Do take care, Robert. I am doing a great favor for the three of you out of the goodness of my own heart and I am only here as long as I am enjoying myself. You'd do well to keep me happy."

"You don't have to prance around, Your Highness." Bobby offered up a mock bow that made Crowley grin with delight.

"Oh, I like that. Think I'll make that a requirement from now on." At Bobby's undisguised look of annoyance, His Highness continued. "Anywho. It was decided pretty earlier on that Lucifer couldn't be allowed to keep Sam as his pet in the cage. Why reward bad results with the benefit of your own man shaped chew toy? But removing Sam from the cage only brought on new problems. How do you keep a human body in Hell? Souls, yes of course. But as for a body, there's just no precedent. I do have to pat myself on the back for this ingenious plan of mine. The law of supply and demand, who knew that early twentieth century economists would nail it so well? I saw a need and I filled it, with your brother no less. And Granddad. How did you know about Grandpa Campbell anyway?" He turned proudly to find Dean's face twisted in an ugly expression, somewhere between fury and desperate curiosity.

"That his soul was in Hell? I didn't. You just confirmed it." Dean got real quiet for a moment and anyone that knew Dean could see the buildup coming. The tension in his shoulders shifted forward and settling in his jaw. The muscles ached so badly because he was fighting so hard to not come unhinged. _Well, if you're gonna fail…fail big._

"I've just got one question for you though. Why? Why bring my brother back without his soul? What _good_ does that do him? Or me? Or anyone? What good is he without his soul?" Once he started, Dean found it hard to stop. The onslaught of emotion was crushing, especially when he looked up to find Sam staring at him, emotionless. "Who would want _this_? An emotional bankrupt brother who cares nothing for anyone or anything around him. He looks at me with these unseeing eyes, like he's looking at a stranger. _God_, thinking he was gone, it hurt _so_ much. It was unbearable, the weight of the grief. But _this_, this is a thousand times worse. I was better off back where I was; not knowing. But how can I leave him now? Like this. Especially now, knowing what I know." He finally pulled his bleary eyes away from Sam's impassive face to look pleadingly at Crowley.

"So please, I'm begging you," and he was. His eyes filled with unshed tears and his voice husky and raw, "Please answer me why?"

"Because Dean. What other choice did I have?"

*There may be a few mistakes in this one. It's well after my bedtime and I was just determined to get this up tonight. So, please! Please! When you find one, forgive me and then immediately send me a PM so that I can go back in and correct them.


	12. Chapter 12

**For Zara Zee. It's an early morning wake up prezzie. **** It's even a long one. (for me that is)**

**Disclaimer: If I don't own them by Friday, I may cry. **

**Then:**

"So please, I'm begging you," and he was. His eyes filled with unshed tears and his voice husky and raw, "Please answer me why?"

"Because Dean. What other choice did I have?"

**Now:**

"What other choice..." Dean's heated outburst stopped dead in his throat when Sam's knee came in contact with his own under the table. A quick glance and Dean caught a minute head shake from Sam. Such a small movement, but so obviously a cue for Dean to back down. Whatever answers they were looking for were _here_, with Crowley. All they had to do was ride out the storm. And as it stood, an emotionally charged Dean would only get them electrocuted and then they'd have no answers at all. Dean cleared his throat, looking down and away from everyone, trying his best to reel in the hopelessness he was feeling. He just needed a moment to breathe and collect himself, to feel the warmth of his brother's leg against his and know that somewhere, somehow there was still that connection. But he wouldn't get that moment.

"If you're finished with the tantrum, Princess, I might be persuaded to finish." Crowley, try as he might to make light of the situation, couldn't ignore the pained expression on Dean's…everything. His whole body radiated misery and Crowley was moved, as much as a demon could be moved. Black eyes did not equal a black heart. He was in the business of making deals and to be successful, you had to be able to sympathize.

"Look, I feel for you; both of you. I really do. And if I'm being honest, you two are actually one of the reasons I did this. The other reason being _purely_ for my own agenda," he quipped. "But, I was inspired. You boys and your insane quest to save the world and each other; it inspired me. And when I saw the opportunity to put Sam back out there, I took it. I actually thought I _might_ be doing you a favor. I'll be sure not to let it happen again."

"How?" Bobby voice was low with controlled anger, but his eyes flashed murder. Had anyone at the table actually met his eyes, they might have considered him possessed. A deep growl emanated from his chest and he stood suddenly; knocking his chair over in the process and barked, "How is _this_ doing _them_ a favor? Look at them! Haven't they been beaten down enough? I am so sick of seeing these boys get their asses handed to them by every two-bit demon or half-cocked angel who thinks they can rule the world! Our world! So, why don't _you_, take your favors _and _your tastes-like-ass Scotch and shove them both up where the sun does shine!"

"Bobby," was Sam's quiet warning. "Sit down." Unable to deny him, Bobby righted his chair and moved it as far away from the crossroads demons as possible before sitting down, hands fisted on the table, panting his hatred. Sam turned to Crowley, his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side, taking the little man in. Trying to decode the mystery behind this new King.

"What are my options?" Sam asked.

"Come again?"

"My options. What are my options for getting my soul back?"

Dean looked up, hopeful for the first time since finding out about Sam's 'condition'.

"I'm not saying that I even _want_ it back, but _they_ need to know what options are available."

Dean's heart stopped. He'd misheard him. That was all. Sam hadn't just admitted to not wanting his own soul. He hadn't just put all of this on his and Bobby's shoulders like it was their decision to make. Like he had no stake in it at all. Dean reran Sam's statement through his head several times and each time the anxiety and panic mounted in Dean's mind. In a flash Dean was up and out of his chair, flying to the sink. He threw his head over the basin and dry heaved for a moment, waiting for the contents of his stomach to decide if they were truly going to appear. Bobby was instantly at his side, but Dean fended him off with an outstretched arm and the shake of his head. He reached across the sink to open the faucet and splashed cool water over his face until the temperature in his skin receded to a more comfortable degree. And then he just leaned heavily against the sink, letting it support his entire weight. It was only then that he felt the firm hand on his shoulder and knew that Bobby was still there, willing him to be okay.

Sam sat with his head turned in the direction but not really looking. He was aware of his brother's grief but unable to reconcile the damage he'd cause in that one statement. He turned back to Crowley, looking for his answer and was surprised to find the demon also watching his brother with something very near sympathy washed over his face. How strange that a man who was inherently evil, evil by definition, could feel more for Sam's own brother than he could muster up himself. But this wasn't about feelings. This was about answers. Find the truth and know how to proceed. Because Dean was right. If there was no hope of getting his soul back, then he _would_ indeed be better off back home with Lisa, where at least he could have the family connection that he so desperately and obviously needed. They would always be family, brothers, but without a soul, it was apparent to Sam that they couldn't be partners. Dean could see it too, even if it was killing him to admit it. It's what would be best for everyone.

"So?" Sam asked. Crowley's head swiveled towards the sound of Sam's voice and then bounced back to Dean's shaken form and then back again to Sam. A frown etched into face, Crowley verbally tsk, tsk, tsk'd.

"Mate, I don't think I like you very much anymore."

"Did you ever?" Not to be dissuaded, Sam pressed on, "Before. You said 'not who, but where'. What is exactly did you mean by that?"

"I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own black heart and for him, not you; not _this _you at any rate. How cliché, I've _actually_ created a monster."

"Shut your mouth, Crowley," came Dean's mangled reply from over the sink. "I'm the only one that gets to call him that."

"Fine. Where? Safe. In a box, so to speak. Dangling over the whole of Hell for everyone to see and admire and pant over. Untouched by anyone, except for yours truly and what little while that Lucifer had his grubby hands on you."

"Why not just send all of me back topside? You had your master plan to put me and Samuel to use up here, why not send me back whole like Samuel?"

"Because I wasn't able to, you moron. First of all, there was no other alternative for good ole' Granddad. He was a Hell bound soul, his body up here, buried 6 foot deep." He took a second to think reflectively, out loud.

"I'm not really sure what your mother was thinking back then. Why she didn't burn the body, grief I suppose. All the same, he had a body to come back to. But you were _special_ and everyone wanted a piece of you. You boys have made enough enemies to last a thousand lifetimes and each and every one of the black eyed bastards was standing in line to get a taste of you. So I did the only thing I could do. The only thing I'd be allowed to do."

The look of skepticism that washed over Sam's face was well practiced but didn't detour Crowley in the least. "Even a King has rules to follow, you know. I sent your body topside, fully restored and left your soul encased like a bright, shining trophy out of harm's reach. And it _is_ bright and shining. Pure as the driven snow. You did _good_, Kid. Took care of Lucifer and purified yourself in one fell swoop. Not a mark on that soul, except what Lucifer put there in the moments before you were stripped away from him."

Dean had pulled himself up and away from the sink and with Bobby's support was now standing behind Sam, listening in awe. Not about to stop the demon if he was surprisingly willing to pour this much information into their eager hands.

"I cannot bring it back to you, Sam. The entirety of Hell would tear me to sheds before I could even step close enough to touch it. But it's there. And it's yours. You own it free and clear. You just have to be willing to reach out and claim it. And that, Gentlemen, is all the more time we have." He stood abruptly, clapping his hands together, snapping the three hunters out of their trance.

Sam shook the cobwebs from his head. "That's all I have to do, is claim it? Show me."

"Can't, Sunshine. I'm on the wrong team for that little nugget of information. I suggest you look upwards. Oh and Dean." Dean met Crowley's gaze and was surprised to actually see compassion there in the demon's eyes.

"It really_ wasn't_ my intention to make things worse for either of you. I like this world. I'm comfy here and don't want to see it ruined anymore than you do. What you two did…yea, well." Crowley shook his head, suddenly uncomfortable with the foreign emotions he was displaying. He cleared his throat and added, "If you do manage to get this all sorted and your offer is still on the table, you give me a call. Because you were right, I do need _better_ help. Only so long a soul can survive in Hell and not be converted and well, let's just say that your Granddad isn't even half the man you are. Ta." And with that he was gone and so was the bottle of Scotch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked to no one in particular.

"I need some air." Dean said quietly. Not waiting for any kind of reply, he practically bolted for the back door and stumbled out onto the lawn where he collapsed on all fours. He stayed that way for several minutes before finally turning over to sit down in the still damp morning grass. He pulled his legs up to his chest, encircling his arms around his knees, like a child, and stared, unseeing into the scrap yard. He wasn't even able to form a complete thought, he just…was. Sam stood inside the back door, looking out on his brother, trying to wrap his head around the information he'd received in the last hour and coming up with more questions than answers. The floor creaked behind him and he knew without looking that Bobby was standing over his left shoulder.

"He just needs some time," Bobby said.

"I know." Sam nodded, his voice perfectly composed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Dear Gentle Reader, I hope you find...aw frig! Nevermind! Just read and be merry or something.**

**Disclaimer: There is none because I own nothing. I pawned off everything that I had to try and buy a small portion of these guys. Sadly I got laughed at and my meager fortune was used to buy pie. **

**Then:**

"I need some air." Dean said quietly. Not waiting for any kind of reply, he practically bolted for the back door and stumbled out onto the lawn where he collapsed on all fours. He stayed that way for several minutes before finally turning over to sit down in the still damp morning grass. He pulled his legs up to his chest, encircling his arms around his knees, like a child, and stared, unseeing into the scrap yard. He wasn't even able to form a complete thought, he just…was. Sam stood inside the back door, looking out on his brother, trying to wrap his head around the information he'd received in the last hour and coming up with more questions than answers. The floor creaked behind him and he knew without looking that Bobby was standing over his left shoulder.

"He just needs some time," Bobby said.

"I know." Sam nodded, his voice perfectly composed.

**Now:**

"Cas, please. I need your help." Dean was so ashamed of the whimper that escaped him but was unable to stop it. His head sank onto the tops of his knees where his too moist breath warmed the fabric. "I can't do this anymore. I'm not strong enough."

"You've always been strong enough," was the gravely response.

"Jesus!" Dean nearly jumped out of his skin to find Castiel parked cross-legged in the grass beside him.

"No," the angel answered confused. "It's me, Castiel. Did you get hit in the head again?"

Dean couldn't stop the chuckle that rose in his throat. "You've really been away too long."

"What can I do for you, Dean."  
"It's Sam."

"Of course it is."

"Don't be a dick, Cas. Please. I can't deal with that right now."

"Right, I'm sorry." The angel studied his friend for a moment, taking in the complete misery etched into the young man's face. "This is a _good_ thing, Dean. At least we know Sam's soul is…attainable."

"You heard?"

"Of course. It's hard to ignore your new mantra."

"My what?"

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. It's like a prayer being nailed to my forehead and it's _all_ I've heard from you for the last six hours."

"Sorry."

"Do not apologize. I am just surprised seeing as you used to be so skeptical about my Father's existence."

"Well, like they say, there are no atheists in foxholes."

"I do not understand that reference."

"Nevermind." Dean grew quiet again and sat there soaking in the angel's presence. It felt like the warm sun on his face on a cool day and it was the absolute best that Dean had felt all day, maybe in a long time. As aggravating as Dean found Castiel at times, he was never opposed to his being around. Dean assumed it was an angel thing. Like a calming effect that they had over humans, but no that wasn't quite right because he'd felt anything but calm around Zachariah or Uriel or any of the other pricks he'd had to deal with in the past. So, it must just be Cas.

"What am I supposed to do, Cas?" When Castiel did not answer him right away, Dean turned his face to be sure the angel was still sitting there. "That bad, huh?"

"I do not believe that there is anything you _can_ do."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"This is _not_ about you, Dean. As much as it may feel like that to you, this is wholly Sam's decision. Now that we know where it is and that it is, as the crossroads demon said, 'free and clear', then the only thing left is for Sam to claim it. But he has to _want it_. If as you fear, he does not want his soul back, then there is nothing that either of us can do to force his hand."

"As I fear?" Dean thought on that for a moment and then it dawned on him that if Castiel could hear his 'mantra'as he called it, then he would also be tuned into his other 'prayers'.

"I think I'm going to stop talking to myself for awhile."

"That _would_ be best. There are some things I do not need to be privy to while _you_ are calling for God. Although I must say that I like Lisa very much."

"Dude!"

* * *

Bobby dried his hands off on the thin cotton dish towel. He always thought better when his hands were busy and this morning's dishes had been the first thing he'd spotted to occupy himself with. He hung the towel over his shoulder and entered into the library expecting to find Sam at the computer. Instead he found him loading his belongings into his duffle.

"Where the Hell do you think _you're_ going?"

"Cas is out there."

"Yep. And?"

"Crowley said to look upwards. And well, I'm not ready."

"Not ready? So what? You're just gonna take off? Leave him again?"

"This isn't about Dean. This is a choice I have to make all on my own and I can't _do_ that with Dean and Castiel breathing down my neck."

Bobby fell back against the doorway in shock. "What choice is there to make? You _take_ your damn soul back, with everything that you have in you. You stand up and _be_ a man and take back what's yours. Not because your brother or I want that for you, but for you. Don't you understand? You're barely alive. Without your soul…you'd be better off dead. " Bobby let out a shuddering breath. "I can't," Bobby raised his hands in defeat, the towel drifting to the ground behind him. "I just can't do this anymore." And he turned to leave the room for the hallway where the stairs stood.

"Bobby," Sam called after him. He dropped his bag on the floor with a heavy thud and followed the man from the room. "Bobby," he said again.

"No!" Bobby stopped and pivoted on the stairs to glower down at Sam. A deep grimace crossed his face as he ground his teeth fighting for control "You follow me and I swear to God I'll fill you so full of rock salt..." The threat died there on his lips as he was nearly overcome with emotion. "Look at what I'm reduced to. A blubbering woman. I can't. I won't watch you do this to him; to me. You wanna leave, Son? There's the door." And with that, Bobby was stomping up the stairs.

"Why stop? Let's seal the deal. If you want to be my father so _damned_ bad, why not tell me to never come back?" Although his voice was low, it still thundered up the stairs and straight into Bobby's heart making him clutch the hand rail for fear of collapsing.

"What? What did you say?"

"Nothing." Sam shook his head like he was waking from a dream, his tone once again calm and cool. "I don't know why I said that. Forget it." Bobby was down the stairs as quickly as his middle aged knees would let him by which time Sam was already grabbing the duffle up.

"Sam." Bobby's voice teetered so closed to pleading that Sam had no choice but to stop. "What just happened there?"

"What do you mean?" he asked without turning to look.

"Sam, I've been watching you all day and I swear there's these…moments…when all I can see is _you_. It's like a curtain's been pulled back and Sam Winchester is shining through. Then just as quick, you're gone again. "

The look he received from the young hunter was a hollow, haunted thing of nightmares and Bobby was compelled to take him by the arms and steer him to the sofa.

"Sam, if you have any notions at all of sticking around, you've _got _to do this. You can't go through life living like this. It's not even living."

* * *

Dean looked back towards the house, his brows knitted together. "Did you hear something?"

"Do you mean something other than Bobby and Sam arguing?"

"Dammit."Dean sprang to his feet and sprinted towards the house, in the back door and up the short flight of stairs into the kitchen. No one. Around the corner and came screeching to a halt outside of the library where he found Sam sitting on the sofa, Bobby knelt in front of him, his hands squarely on Sam's arms, holding him in place. Dean was frozen in place and unable to make a sound, so afraid that everything in front of him would disappear if he so much as blinked.

"It's not even living."

"Bobby, I understand what you're saying, but I just _don't_ agree. I'm better than I've ever been. I don't ever remember feeling this good. I'm faster and stronger. I'm a better hunter. And if I have to do this on my own, I will. It'll just be better for everyone." His argument might have sounded rushed and anxious had it not been for the calmness in his tone. But the too cold voice didn't match the wild, frantic eyes on Sam's face and Dean's heart broke to see the hurt etched there. It was like watching someone with split personalities fight for control. Sam's back was straight and strong, sitting perfectly at attention, until Dean found Sam's hands, tightly clutching the fabric of his jeans across the tops of his legs. His jaw was loose and confident, but his eyes which were screaming for release, fixed entirely on Bobby. But it was clear that Sam truly believed what he was saying, which made it so much worse for Dean to hear. And then the tear rolled down from Sam's eye and Dean's world lurched to a stop.

"Sammy?"

Sam and Bobby both jumped at the sound of his voice and were surprised to see both Dean and Castiel standing in the doorway. Sam reached up to his face and wiped at the wetness he found there, staring at his wet hand in puzzlement. His eyes found Dean again but instead of the warm recognition Dean was hoping for, he instead found impassive, unreadable Sam.


	14. Chapter 14

**Later in this chapter, Sam will say, 'longest day ever'. Yep that was today. I've been working on this last and final chapter since 7:30 am. It is now 10pm. I pray to God (and Cas) that I tied up all the little loose ends. Too bad if I didn't. :) Here goes nothing!  
**

**Disclaimer: I got my first check today from the CW…It bounced.:(**

**Then:**

"Sammy?"

Sam and Bobby both jumped at the sound of his voice and were surprised to see both Dean and Castiel standing in the doorway. Sam reached up to his face and wiped at the wetness he found there, staring at his damp hand in puzzlement. His eyes found Dean again but instead of the warm recognition Dean was hoping for, he instead found impassive, unreadable Sam.

**Now:**

Sam popped up from the sofa so quickly that Bobby was knocked off balance and on to his butt. Caught off guard by his quick approach, Dean was unsure whether he should open his arms or put up his dukes, but Sam just pushed his way between Dean and Castiel and was out the back door before anyone could even blink.

"What the Hell is going on in here?" Dean demanded.

"Did you see?" Bobby asked, his voice wavering.

"Yea. What was that?"

"He's fighting it, Dean." Castiel's deep bass broke into the conversation.

"Fighting what?"

"Himself. He has opened himself up for the first time in over a year to the possibility of welcoming his soul home and now he is fighting to keep it out."

"Why, why would he do that?" Bobby stuttered from the floor.

"It would feel foreign to him. Most likely it would feel similar to possession. Except that in Sam's case the soul actually belongs in him."

"How do we help him?" Bobby asked. He rolled to his knees and used the sofa to gain his feet.

"You do not. He has to be the one to accept his soul back. This is not a metaphorical situation. He must literally and physically want and accept his soul or it will be lost."

Dean turned away from the room and beat a path towards the back door once again.

"Now, where the Hell are _you_ going?"

"If he wants to fight, I'll give him something to fight."

"What are you going to do?

"Wing it," he hollered over his shoulder.

"This isn't going to be good."

"Bobby," Castiel stopped the hunter's progress to follow his boys. "Dean may think he's helping, but he's not going to be able to force his brother to make this choice. It has to be a choice Sam makes willingly or we will fail him entirely."

"Yea, I get it. Let's get moving before we're too late."

* * *

Dean tore across the lawn and threw himself on his brother's back before the back door even had a chance to bang its warning. Sam went down with a puff of exertion not having expected the attack. Dean however rolled through and was back on his feet in his well practiced fighting stance.

"Come on, Sam. Get up."

Sam pushed himself up, his long legs finding their hold before he straightened the rest of his lanky body into upright. He brushed at his clothes, removing the bits of grass and leaves from his front and eyed Dean with caution.

"Dean, what are you doing? I'm going for a walk to clear my head. A lot to take in today, you know."

"Like Hell. I'm not gonna let you walk away now. We've got things to do. Gotta make you a better hunter, first." Dean's tone was light but there was a sense of pain behind his words.

"First? Dean, I'll _be_ right back. I'm just going for a…" Sam never got to finish that statement. Dean's fist came crashing down into his left jaw, knocking him sideways. He managed to block the left elbow that was quick to follow, but was unable to stop the knee that Dean brought up to his abdomen taking away Sam's wind and planting him on the ground.

"Better hunter? Ha! You were a better hunter at age 14 than you are now." Sam clamored back to his feet. To his left he could see Castiel and Bobby, standing outside of reach, pensive and nervous, in that order. But neither man took a step to enter into the circle Dean had now created.

"I'm not going to fight you, Dean," he repeated. But his stance belied his intention as he was standing feet easily apart, knees bent and hands raised to protect himself and strike at will.

"A little sparring never hurt no one. It'll be just like when we were kids, Sam." Dean tossed a loose series of punches at Sam which were easily deflected.

"You remember that, right? I used to kick the snot out of you." His booted right foot caught Sam easily on the upper thigh before being batted down by a big hand.

"Come on, Sammy, play along. It'll make you a better hunter." Dean stepped in for a second elbow jab and was caught off guard when Sam's long leg hooked his heal and together they were toppled over. Dean didn't even try to fight as his little brother quickly straddled his legs pinning them beneath Sam's heavier frame. He instead reached up and slapped playfully at Sam's face, until Sam finally caught Dean's hands between his own.

"What are you _doing_?" Sam sat back, resting his backside against the tops of Dean's prone legs all the while keeping a hold of Dean's wrists to keep his older brother from slapping at him again. He pulled Dean up into a sitting position. Looking down on him in this close proximity, Sam was able to see the sadness that Dean was trying so hard to hide with his playful antics. "Why are you _trying_ to pick a fight?"

"I'm not. I'm trying to make you a better hunter, Sam," Dean said with a grin.

"Why do you keep _saying_ that?" he growled in frustration. Sam released Dean's hands like they were hot to the touch and was suddenly surprised when his own hands were knocked away and Dean had grasped Sam by the shirt front and pulled him in until they were eye to eye.

"Because I _need_ you to be a better hunter. Cuz as it stands, you're _not_," Dean bit out, suddenly very serious. "You're _not_ a better hunter. You're a careless hunter and you're going to get people killed. Hell, you already have."

"Who?" Sam challenged.

"Mark." Sam's face lit with recognition. "You used that baby. Bobby John. You _used_ him to bait the Shape shifter and it got '_your family'_ killed. And I won't have that on my conscious."

"Your conscious?"

"_Yes_, mine! Because you have none." Sam's frown deepened.

"Dean, I don't need you to take responsibility for my actions."

"You're right and I won't. Because if you choose…" Dean huffed emotionally. He took a deep breath, reached a hand up and clapping down hard the back of Sam's neck, squeezing to be sure that he had his complete attention and began again. "If you _choose_ to go without your soul, then it's _really_ done. I'm done. Cuz I can't watch you be this way and worry about you or who you're going to _let_ get hurt."

"Well, good. That's good." Sam pushed Dean's hand down and was back into his recent cool exterior.

"Good? You son of a Bitch, get off me!" Dean knocked Sam sideways off of his legs to the ground and scrambled to his own feet.

Castiel stepped forward to intervene but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked down at the offending hand and followed it back up to find Bobby shaking his head slowly.

"They've got this. Give them a chance to get it sorted," He said confidently. Castiel turned back to the young brothers, hoping to see what Bobby was so clearly able to see.

"Good? How can you say that? I just told you that I'm going to leave your ass and all you can say is, 'Good'."

"Yea, well. It's probably just…better that way." Sam tried to right himself to stand but received a stiff shove from Dean and found himself again seated on the ground. He looked up from beneath a heavy brow, eyes hard, boring holes into Dean.

"Better for who?" Dean growled from over him, his fist clenched, ready to strike.

"Better for me!" Sam roared. "You're a friggin' liability, man. Your little _hero_ complex, it gets in the way of you doing the job. But you can't help yourself, you just _gotta_ _save Sammy's soul_," Sam spit out bitterly from the ground and Dean reeled in shock at sudden wave of anger that shuddered past him. "Did I _ask_ to be saved? Did I _ask_ to be brought back? I wanted out! I wanted to be done. I wanted free of a lifetime of pain and loss and uncertainty. So yea, if I have no other choice than to be here, I'd rather it be without my soul. At least then I wouldn't have to feel…_like this! Aghh_," he groaned breathily, pulling air in between clenched teeth, "Hurts."

The pupils of Sam's eyes dilated so deeply that his hazel drowned in the black and then his eyes rolled up beneath his lids altogether. His breathing caught in his chest and came out in heavy, aching pants. Dean watched in horror as his brother's body seized. Rising to his knees, Sam clutched and clawed at his own chest, until a single, raw sob tore from his throat. "Dean."

Dean was on the ground in an instant, knee to knee, folding his brother into his arms as Sam's body rocked in painful seizures; babbling loosely into his brother's ear, words of comfort and support, anything to ease Sam's fight.

Bobby and Castiel watched as Sam's body fell limply against Dean's chest, his head rolling into his brother's shoulder. He might have been unconscious had they not have seen hands climbing the back of Dean's arms, grabbing the shirt cloth for purchase.

"It is not over." Castiel's low voice made Bobby turn in panic to scan the angel's face for the good news and found none.

"Sit up, ya lug." Dean pushed at his brother's shoulders, righting him in to a kneeled position. He lifted Sam's chin in one hand and wiped comfortingly at Sam's tear streaked face. "There, see. It's gonna be okay." Sam's breathing was slowing and had become less laborious. Even his eyes were now open, but when Dean tilted Sam's head to look into them, they were dull and inexpressive and Dean's hopes faded.

Sam reached up and tried to dislodge Dean's hands and for a moment they struggled for control, until they became locked in place. Each hand to the shoulder of the other, holding each other up. Dean frantic to hold on, Sam determined to get away. "No, come on. Please Sam, don't fight it." He grabbed Sam's hand and pulled it firmly against Dean's own chest to rest over his heart. Then reached across and pressed his palm against Sam.

Sam's bleary gaze was firmly attached to his own hand and the strong, quick tempo inside Dean's chest. "Sammy." Sam's eyes climbed higher until they met Dean's green set, brilliant with tears. "Sammy, I miss you so much. Please. Please, come home to me."

For a moment Sam just starred, long and hard into Dean's eyes, almost to the point where Dean began to panic again. Sam's eyes had not left his own. They were still heavily dilated and unresponsive and then Sam blinked. And again. Like waking from a dream and Dean saw them fill with tears and Dean released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His relief was short lived when Sam suddenly seized again, the whole of his body going rigid, escaping Dean's grasp and falling heavily to the ground.

"Sam?" Dean clamored over his brother and pulled Sam bodily into his lap, one hand clasped to Sam's forehead, the other wrapped around Sam's chest, pressing him against Dean's own chest to keep the young man from thrashing and hurting himself. "Help me!" Dean ground out.

Bobby and Castiel were beside him immediately, holding Sam as still as possible, while he bucked against them. A pain-filled cry tore free and Sam collapsed boneless against Dean. They all sat there a moment in complete disbelief and terror, waiting for a sign of what was to come.

"Is he?" Bobby wasn't able to finish his question, overcome by the sight of Sam taking a deep breath. A breath so large that it filled his chest cavity and forced Dean to hang on tightly for fear of another seizure, but then he sighed the exhale and his breathing returned to normal.

"Good God," Bobby breathed.

"He is," Castiel assured him. Bobby threw an irritated glance towards the angel, before sitting back on his knees in front of his boys.

"Sammy. Can you hear me?" Dean spoke softly into his brother's hair, still afraid to let him loose. Sam's hand reached up his chest and found Dean's arm. He folded his fingers over Dean's wrist and squeezed softly. Dean felt Sam's chest rumble. "What did you say?" he asked leaning closer to be able to hear Sam.

"I said," Sam breathed. "Honey, I'm home." Dean leaned his head against Sam's in relief.

"Bitch," Dean sobbed.

"Jerk," Sam groaned out. Dean pulled Sam back into such a death grip that they might never be free of each other and they just sat, breathing as one, Dean hiding his tears of relief in Sam's mop of hair.

Bobby stood, took a moment to stretch his legs and then took a firm hold of Castiel's arm and marched him away from the brothers. "Let's give them some…where the Hell did you come from?" He came up short when nearly running into Crowley.

"Funny enough…Hell. Noticed my sparkling little trinket went missing and figured I'd find it here. So, everyone in one piece now? Good." He took in Bobby's haggard but relieved appearance. "Ready for another drink?"

"I thought you'd never ask. You bring the good stuff?"  
"Of course." Crowley pulled his gifted bottle from beneath his coat jacket. "Will you be joining us, Angel Pet?" Castiel glowered at the demon and then prized the bottle from his hands to regard the label as he walked towards the house.

"Craig. I drank a crate of this once."

"A crate?" Bobby asked, following right beside him.

"It was all they had," Castiel answered not fully understanding the question.

Crowley pulled a face. "You have obviously spent too much time with Dean. Let me teach you the finer points of enjoying Scotch." He pulled his bottle free of the angel's hands and opened the back door for the other men, leaving Sam and Dean still sitting in the front yard.

* * *

"Am I wrong or is there something really off with this picture?"

"It's like a disaster of biblical proportions."

The chick flick on the front lawn had lasted only a matter of minutes when the boys had decided to put whatever 'emotions' they had for each other on hold and just get down to enjoying themselves, together again. Now, Dean and Sam stood at the entrance of the kitchen, taking in the scene in front of them. A middle aged hunter, a self-proclaimed King of Hell & the recently pinned Sheriff of Heaven; all sitting around the kitchen table swirling 30 year old Scotch and water around in round bottomed glasses to suss out the Highland peat and smoky notes that Crowley had assured them were there.

"Old Testament, real wrath of God type stuff," Sam continued, "like fire and brimstone coming down from the skies, rivers and seas boiling. Forty years of darkness, Earthquakes, volcanoes, the dead rising from the grave," Sam finished, snorting his laughter.

"_Human_ sacrifice, dogs and cats _living_ together…_mass hysteria_! So in other words, just our average Friday night." The three men looked up from their drinks at the boy's exuberant entrance.

"Sounds like fun," Crowley quipped. He stood and like he owned the place, crossed to the cupboard and pulled down two new glasses. Eyed both glasses before pouring a _very_ healthy portion of Scotch into each, then he added a splash of water from a special bottle that he's also carried in and then offered a glass to each of the brothers. "Cop a squat, Gents."

Sam took his pro-offered glass and crossed to the counter, where he jumped up to take a seat, his long legs nearly reaching the floor. Dean took a moment longer to collect his drink, for just as Crowley was about to relinquish it to him, he pulled it back.

"If I have to watch you throw this back like a cheap vodka again, I _will_ throttle you. Drink it like a grown man and _don't_ wipe your mouth on the back of your sleeve. Manners tell a lot about a person, yours…speak volumes."

"Yes, Yoda," Dean grimaced in distaste, snatching the glass from Crowley's hand and joined his brother, leaning against the counter beside him. Sam leaned over and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

"You gonna start taking etiquette from Crowley?" he asked, grinning.

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam was watching them closely, Crowley and Castiel. For the past fifteen minutes they had been huddled over the table, talking in hushed tones, occasionally sneaking a look back at him. He glanced toward where Bobby and Dean were now working over the stove fixing a bit of late afternoon lunch. But if they had noticed, they weren't apparently troubled by the new development. Sam became increasingly concerned when in one swift motion the angel and demon moved as one unit from the table to stand directly in front of him, looking up with examining eyes.

"So, everything back in working order in there?" Sam leaned away from Crowley and then nearly toppled into the sink when Castiel went as far as to take Sam by the chin and move his head first one direction and then another.

"Quit!" Sam waved frantic hands at the two offending interdimensional beings.

"Cas," Dean barked. "It's been nearly three years; you _know _what personal space _is_ by now."

"Dean, your brother is unique and we are curious. How can you go back to your sandwiches and pie when you have such a universal anomaly sitting in your kitchen?"

"Oh, of course. You're right." Dean turned quickly to Bobby. "We need _pie_." Bobby laughed openly.

"You're a lot of help," Sam complained loudly. "Look, okay I get it. I'm _unique_. But you're not going to go poking around in me."

"You're not my type, Love," Crowley scoffed.

"I'm _everybody's_ type," Sam scoffed right back. Dean looked up sharply from pan and splattered himself with hot cooking oil in the process.

"Ow, crap. Hey, that's my line."

"Gimme that before you really burn yourself… idjit." Bobby took the pan and spatula away from Dean and handed him a dish towel. Dean blotted absently at the oil on his hand as he approached the others. Castiel was still busy trying to look up Sam's nose for whatever answer he hoped to find and Dean with a puzzled look, leaned down to do the same.

"What are we looking for?" he asked.

"I was lying earlier," Cas stated. Dean turned a wide-eye look on him.

"What?"

"What I said before, about Sam making a choice and physically having to accept his soul back. It was all crap. This has never happened before so I had no idea." There was a look of immense discomfort on Castiel's face due to his confession. Dean would later label it Cas' constipation face.

"Bravo!" Crowley crowed in delight at the thought of an angel lying.

"You can lie now? What else can you do?" Dean thought about it for a moment and then, "Have you been having _sex_?" Castiel, try as he might, could not stop the facial tic that occurred around his clenched mouth. Sam eyed in him in disbelief.

"_Holy Crap_! You have!" Sam exclaimed, calling the angel on hidden truth.

"Castiel, you sly dog. Who is she?" Dean asked.

"This is not something I will be discussing with either of you two…morons," he growled. Dean barked out a laugh and Sam plastered a hand to his mouth in surprise, hiding the full fledged dimples beneath.

"So, Castiel," Bobby interrupted the locker room talk. "What exactly were you expectin' to happen today?"

"I felt that Sam would lose his soul, fall into a coma and be trapped inside his mind for eternity."

"Don't sugar coat it or anything." Sam rolled his eyes in amazement, but couldn't hide his amusement. He gave Dean a serious look and added, "Thank you so much, by the way, for not leaving me in Castiel's capable hands." Dean laughed openly.

"That's still better than my idea. I had us storming into Hell, Rambo style, slaughtering the Orc Army to rescue the damsel in distress." He clapped Sam roughly on the leg before leaning against the counter.

"Who's the damsel in this scenario?"

"That'd be you, Rapunzel."

"Wait a minute, _you _read Lord of the Rings?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"No, man," Dean grimaced. "I saw all the movies once though."

"When did you ever have the time to do that? That's like 13 hours of film."

"You know all those times you were at the library doing research? Well as it turns out, pay per view is actually good for something other than Casa Erotica. Plus that Liv Tyler's a babe."

"Oh God," Sam moaned.

"Hey," Dean shook his head, made cutting motions at his own throat, the universal sign for 'cut it out' and thumbed in Castiel's direction. "Don't say that anymore, Dude." At Sam's confused look, he added, "I'll tell you later."

"If any of you care to hear, I may have an idea of what happened." Crowley pitched in.

"Naw, I'm good." Dean would forever find it great fun to antagonize 'Fergus'.

"Dean," Bobby warned, then tossed in a mock bow to the King.

"See, he remembers these things. It must be love." Crowley held up a finger to keep Bobby at bay and then proceeded to give his explanation. "Body and soul aren't meant to be split apart. S'why your soul doesn't leave until your body's dead, then it just goes where it's fated to go; Heaven, Hell or if you're real unlucky to wander round this soddin' place for the rest of eternity. His soul was separated by force. Sorry 'bout that." Crowley tried to appear apologetic to Sam. "It's all about bringing the parts back to a whole. The soul's aware that there's a problem, but his mind had no clue. Not much has changed there, eh?" he cleared his throat uncomfortably and went on. "All that needed to happen was for his mind to be made aware that part of him was missing. Then it just kind of…sent out a signal. He claimed it."

"He called to it," Castiel added.

"What, 1-800-Fon-A-Sol? You got your own phone sex line. Nice, Sam."

"Naw, it's like take out. I called to place an order for delivery," Sam grinned.

"How much is that delivery charge, I wonder?"

"Are you two knuckleheads done messing around? You're giving me a headache."

"Aw, but Bobby, I missed you." Sam jumped down from the counter and before Bobby could escape, had him wrapped up in Sam's long arms.

"Get off of me. You weren't gone anywhere. You were right here the whole time." He struggled in Sam's hold, but it was of no use. Sam was wrapped around him like a boa. "You can't miss somebody when you weren't gone. Now maybe if you'd leave…"

* * *

"Longest day ever. Uh," Sam collapsed on the sofa beside Dean with a groan. Castiel and Crowley had long since left, Crowley making sure that they knew that they should call him immediately if Dean's earlier offer still stood. Dean said he'd think about it _after _they got back from vacation. Crowley didn't bother to ask when that would be and the brothers later laughed at the idea of them _ever _taking vacation. Bobby was now going around the house doing his nightly salted lock up. Dean was sitting on one end of the sofa, armed draped over the arm, beer in hand, head resting comfortably against the back of the sofa and legs sprawled as far and wide across the floor as his body would allow. He didn't move at all when Sam sat down. Sam smiled at his older brother and leaned his head back also, tucking his hands across his chest and into his sides for warmth.

"Y'alright?" Dean asked sleepily.

"Yea, course. You?"

"Better now." He lifted his beer to his lips and then pulled a face, setting the bottle down beside the sofa. "Ugh, warm."

"You've been in here dozing for an hour. Go up to bed."

"I go where you go." Sam turned his head to watch his brother drift in and out. Every once in a while a small smile would play across Dean's face and the corners of his eyes would crinkle ever so slightly. When had Dean gotten wrinkles he wondered. Sam knew they had been there for a while, but couldn't remember the first time he noticed them. There just wasn't time in their life for that type of detail. Hell, they'd completely missed celebrating Dean's 30th birthday in the midst of trying to stop the apocalypse. Time was flying so fast and before he knew it they would be Bobby's age with little to show for it. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Dean had options, if he'd take them. 'I go where you go.'

"Hey," Sam lightly elbowed Dean.

"Yea?" Dean opened his eyes partially and gave Sam a sideways glance.

"You mean that? I go where you go?"

"Course. Always."

"What about Lisa…and Ben?"

"Got that handled, don't you worry."

"Dean," Sam started to say something more, but quickly interrupted by Dean.

"Sammy, don't worry. Trust me when I say, I've got it covered. Go to sleep. Move, Francis, I get the couch."

"What? Why?"

"Cuz you put me through Hell."

"I was in Hell…kind of."

"Shut up, Bitch."

"Jerk." And neither of them moved, falling asleep in exactly the same positions they sat.

It was nearly two in the morning when Dean woke. He stretched and his body groaned in protest. Too old to be falling asleep like this. Not a teenager any more. And then he heard it; the noise that had brought him out of the fabulous 'Lisa in a black teddie' dream. He turned to find Sam next to him, his sleep disturbed by dreams or nightmares.

"Hey, wake up." He put a hand on Sam's arm and waited for the inevitable arm swing. "You're having a bad dream. Wake up." Sam shuddered out of his sleep and for a moment was disoriented.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Bad dream?" Dean asked.

"Oh. Yea I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean suggested.

"With you? No. Not especially."

"It's alright if you do."

"Not really. It was nothing. Midgets and clowns."

"Sam. I've been there. I know. That crap will haunt you for a long time, but it gets better. Kind of goes away after long enough."

"No, really, Dean. Midgets and clowns. Castiel's new girl friend. She's a short little clown with orange hair and big shoes. She drinks way too much Scotch and talks with an accent. Scariest dream of my life."

Dean's laugh filled the quiet room and he tucked his arms around his stomach trying to rein it in. He turned towards Sam and tossed his legs up over his baby brother's lap and then snuggled down into the arm of the sofa. Sam pulled a blanket down of the back of the sofa and threw it over the both of them and then leaned his head back once again.

"Night, Dean."

"Glad to have you back, Sammy."

*Ghostbusters reference & obviously a LOTR reference, just to appease the copyright Gods. Wonder if Cas is in charge of that too?


	15. Thank You!

10/28/10

I just wanted to take a moment and send out a sincere Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read my very first fanfic and the first fic that I've written at all in over 12 years. Your generous reviews and humorous PMs have made this last week fun and exciting and have really kept me motivated to see this to its very fast paced completion. It had literally been just a week since I started this project and I could never have imagined how much I would enjoy the ride. And it's really because of all of you.

I wanted to say Thank you especially to my best friend in the world, LeLe, even though she hasn't read it yet. It was her that inspired me to really go for it and she did so without even knowing, just by digging out an old school folder of Comp papers and sharing them with me. I hope she will soon join this insane ride.

Also to Kelhome who will one day read this as well. It was a PM conversation a couple weeks ago that got me so wired about my soul theories. I love that fact that this site allows us to talk to each other and share our ideas together. This place is really a very positive location and you all have made me feel comfortable sharing a part of myself with you.

And finally Zara Zee. Gasp! Who will modestly blush now and then behind all our backs will jump up and down with delight. The camaraderie that we've shared this last week has been a spot of both sanity and insanity for me (for you too, admit it). I look forward to my afternoons/your mornings when you drag yourself out of bed and send the first of many PMs. I love that you get it; sometimes even before I do. And I will forever have an image of shirtless Sam in size 19 ruby red slippers in my head. "There's no thing like my soul." (You have no idea how I had to fight the urge to put that in!) And non-gratuitous be damned!

I really do thank you all. It's meant the world to me that so many of you have taken the time to send in even the smallest review and accepted what I had to offer. I'm not usually so gushing, but this week and you all have really overwhelmed me, so Thanks.

Now…bring on the shirtlessness and low ride jeans!

**OH! I almost forgot! FINALLY! I can go watch the promo for this weeks' episode! Oh my God, I think I just threw up a little.**

Peace!

Theresa (9Tiptoes) – and no, I don't have 9 toes, I have 10, but I got you to ask, right?


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